image from warposters.com
Daddy, Can You Hear Me?
“We cannot invade America. There would be a rifle
behind every blade of grass.”
--Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto.
As a poet, I have mentioned divers aspects of my
life. I am comfortable with my past laid naked, an
open book, personal fodder for poetic musings.
On paper, legally, I was not a bastard. My mother
was married when I was born. After my mother’s
early death at 39, it was revealed that her first
husband was not my real father. After two more
marriages, I piled up three stepfathers. My real
father remained anonymous for 75 years, like
a bottomless pit in my chest.
On my birthday a year ago, after submitting my
DNA as a lark to Ancestory.com, I was contacted
by a woman who claimed to be related. We met,
and compared our life stories; and shazam, the
aching mystery of who was my father was solved.
There were five sons in her Pellegrino family. My
Father had to be one of her four uncles. The eldest,
Frank, turned out to be my Dad. As a soldier, he met
my mother while passing through Spokane in 1943.
He survived the war, and ironically lived less than 30
miles from me for five decades, until his death in the
90’s. I am 68% Italian, and I now have a new family.
I proudly have a portrait of my father in his paratrooper
uniform hanging over my desk.
My Dad was a war
hero, spending June ’44
fighting in Europe.
Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub